


Balaur

by Hangmans_Radio



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-13
Updated: 2013-09-13
Packaged: 2017-12-26 12:01:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/965695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hangmans_Radio/pseuds/Hangmans_Radio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock travel to Romania to look into a case of missing villagers. A deadly woman proves to be the near-downfall of them both and Sherlock discovers a secret John has been harboring for a life time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Balaur

**Author's Note:**

> So this idea actually came to me in a dream. I woke up and thought it was just so much fun that I had to write it. I didn't intend for it to end up this long or... serious, but hopefully despite its bizarre nature it wont come across as a crack! fic.  
> I also apologise in advance if Sherlock sounds a little too much like the victorian Sherlock. I've just finished reading the full ACD Sherlock collection and it probably influenced the way I wrote this.  
> Meep, I hope you like.

Sherlock was suffocating. His lungs were burning. His head was pounding. He felt as though he was about to die at any moment.

He was breathing hard, struggling to suck air into his straining lungs. The wound down his torso was burning as if a hot poker was pressed to it and his eyes were beginning to stream. 

It was stupid of him, so stupid. Should have listened to John. He knew that. He had known it even before he broke the one rule he had been so sternly given. But the case was more important. He needed to solve the case. 

“J – John…” He gasped hoarsely, strangling himself further with the effort to speak as he dragged his body by his nails across the dusty carpeted floor. The window was close, no more than five feet, and yet it looked like miles away. He wasn’t sure he could make it. Oh God, _stupid_.

The sunlight pouring through the large windows was bathing him in gold. Dust particles danced in the ray of light like glitter, more getting cast up as Sherlock scraped at the carpet. His breathing was getting worse, each breath sounding like a chainsaw grinding in his throat. He could feel his lungs and throat closing up, swelling more with each desperate intake of air.

“J – J –” Sherlock couldn’t say it. He didn’t have enough oxygen to say anything. He stopped trying to drag himself to the window and collapsed onto his front. He could feel his heart pounding painfully hard in his chest. It felt like it was expanding to the point of explosion and he knew he was going to pass out. Perhaps he would even die like this. God, to think he would die for something so foolish. 

“Sherlock!?” 

Footsteps. Light, fast. Someone running. 

“Sherlock! Oh God, you idiot. You idiot!”

Panic. Familiar voice. The voice of an angel. Of course John would come. He was loyal, reliable; he would never have failed Sherlock. 

“I told you not to get out of bed. Oh God, you _bloody_ idiot.” 

Sherlock could barely hear John, still struggling desperately to breathe. He vaguely saw John’s boots as he hurried past him, rushing to the window and lifting up the boards Sherlock had lain on the floor and resting them back against the walls so they blocked all light from outside. 

The windows were tall. Three steps led up to them, and then they stood the whole length from floor to ceiling. The blackout boards were therefore just as tall. Sherlock didn’t know where John had found them, but they served the purpose of keeping Sherlock in total darkness. 

John rushed to Sherlock once the boards were safely in place. As soon as the sunlight was off him Sherlock was able to breathe again and he panted harshly as John reached him and hoisted him to his feet with his hands beneath his arms. 

“Come on… Come on, you need to be in bed.”

“John…” Sherlock rasped, his voice still weakened from his near asphyxiation. “I was… Deducing John…”

“Shut up.” John snapped, not wanting to hear a single excuse as he dragged his companion back to the four poster bed dominating the large space. “I told you to stay in bed.” 

“You’re angry.” Sherlock noted, his voice still strained.

“Great deduction, that.” John scoffed, levering Sherlock onto the bed and laying the blankets over him with more care than his scowling face would suggest. He made sure the pillows were positioned square behind Sherlock’s head and lifted the loose white shirt he was wearing to check the three long wounds that ran from one side of his neck and down in a diagonal path to the opposite hipbone.

“I am sorry, John.” Sherlock’s voice was earnest, though pained. He struggled to make out his friend’s face in the darkness, his hands aching to rise and touch John’s face. He wanted to brush his fingertips across his cheeks, over his jaw, beneath his lips. John… Faithful John. Wonderful John. 

“John… John…” 

“What?” John snapped, dropping Sherlock’s shirt and turning to light the many candles and gas lamps around the room. 

“You are… magnificent, John.” 

“Dear God, you’re becoming delusional.” John sounded worried now, as if he actually believed Sherlock was losing control over his faculties. 

Sherlock watched as John moved swiftly about the room, using the lighter he had taken from him to light the different Victorian light devices until the room was bathed in an orange glow. Sherlock detested it. He hated that on such beautifully sunny days he was forced to sit in this darkness. The candles and lamps did nothing to make him feel better when he knew blue skies lay outside… Though admittedly, blue skies were rare in these parts at this time of year.

“John… You have a… wonderful name.” Sherlock sighed, closing his eyes and flopping a hand out of the bed for John to take. “Strong… Yet… Soft on the tongue… John…” Sherlock spoke the name slowly, tasting the way it felt in his mouth as John looked at him worriedly and walked over to slowly take his hand.

“How long were you in the light for?” He asked anxiously, feeling Sherlock’s forehead with his other hand. 

“Mere moments…” Sherlock sighed, closing his eyes and lolling his head from side to side. “I was setting up the telescope and I moved the boards away. It was for a second I swear but… The telescope was still over there so I went to retrieve it. I couldn’t even make it back to the window by the time my energy was gone.” 

“I told you about this.” John sighed, sounding exasperated. “You should be resting not trying to spy on… I don’t even know what you’re spying on.”

“Oh don’t try to lie to me John.” Sherlock groaned, shaking his head in a pained way. His hand was gripping tighter to Johns now as his strength came back to him. “I must finish this case John… I have it all in my head. I know it to be true. But to end it… Yes I must end it. I must kill the infernal beast and send her back to hell where she belongs!” 

“I really think you need to get back to London.” John sighed, lifting Sherlock’s shirt again to examine his wounds now he had more light. “I worry for your sanity.” 

“Is that so?” Sherlock’s voice dipped low, John could only describe it as a purr and he frowned suspiciously as he glanced up at his companions face. “You could take me to London anytime you wanted.” 

“You’re in no fit state to travel like this.” John said firmly, the same thing he had been saying for the past week. He had stitched Sherlock’s wounds himself, and they were healing rapidly but not fast enough. John was the only doctor in the world who knew how to help Sherlock, but the detective was so determined to go against all of his instructions that even John’s expertise may not be enough. 

“You couldn’t handle a plane journey.” 

“I didn’t mean by plane.” Sherlock spoke softly, his eyes boring into John’s and his face seemed to have regained some life. John looked at him in surprise, amazed to see something of the old Sherlock back. He had not been the same since the attack and John ached for things to be like before. Seeing that familiar sparkle of knowledge in the detective’s eyes brought a stab of longing to John’s chest.

“How else would we get back to London?” He asked, feigning ignorance. “We’re in the middle of South East Europe, or have you forgotten that?” 

“I forget nothing important.” Sherlock shrugged, closing his eyes again and sighing as he tried to relax. He was weakened by his wound still, though his mind was as strong as it had ever been. It had taken him some days to start thinking normally again… Or at least normal for him. 

For four days Sherlock had been crippled in his bed, slipping in and out of consciousness. He had been caught in a limbo of dreaming and waking, never quite sure which was which. At first he couldn’t tell whether he was remembering dreams or real events when he thought back to the attack and the things he had seen. But as he had come back to his senses and spent some time alone in this room he had thought over the case that had brought him and John to this remote part of Romania and he began to understand the truth.

“You could fly us home anytime you wished.” He told John quietly, his eyes remaining closed though he idly traced patterns over John’s palm as he held his hand. 

“I’m not a pilot Sherlock.” John frowned, though as Sherlock’s fingers slipped over his wrist he knew he was feeling how his heart beat had picked up. 

“I know you’re not.” Sherlock said quietly, sighing as he slowly opened his eyes and looked at John quietly. “But you could fly us home all the same. Couldn’t you John?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” John blushed, pulling his hand out of Sherlock’s grip and moving away from the bed. “You’re growing delirious.”

“Oh John!” Sherlock sighed, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment and rubbing his fingertips against his temples. “You are… my only friend. You know that. But even if I had other friends, you would be my most loyal, my most valued companion.” Sherlock opened his eyes again, looking intently at the blonde doctor. “Do you really mean to try and deceive me like this?”

John swallowed thickly and ran his tongue along his dry lips. Sherlock had been making subtle remarks like this all week but up until now John had been able to convince him he was talking nonsense. That he had been dreaming. Or that he was confused due to how weak he was. But it was clear that that was no longer going to work.

“I’m not deceiving you about anything Sherlock.” He said as calmly and convincingly as he could. “You’re injured, and you need to rest. As soon as you’re strong enough we’ll go home. I don’t like being here anymore than you do.” 

“For goodness sake John I _saw_ you.” Sherlock snapped, growing frustrated as John tried to convince him that he wasn’t thinking straight. That he didn’t even know his own mind. He knew what he had seen! At first he had thought he was crazy too, but when he thought of it in terms of the case everything just made _sense_. Once you rule out the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. Sherlock knew that… and though what he now believed to be the truth did seem impossible he wouldn’t let that lead him astray.

“I saw you when you saved me from… from _her_. I saw what you both were.” Sherlock’s voice was hushed now, but it was strong. He knew he was right and he could see the guilt in John’s face even as he tried to hide it. 

“Sherlock… Whatever you think you saw, it’s nothing more than your imagination… It… It’s your mind trying to rationalise a terrible thing that happened to you.” He said as gently as he could, laying his hand over Sherlock’s. “Florica attacked you and I fought her off. That’s all.”

“Yes… Yes, Florica.” Sherlock’s eyes grew misty as he thought for a moment. John watched him with concerned eyes, but Sherlock came back to his senses quickly. “Interesting name, Florica…”

“It’s Romanian.” John shrugged, glad to have the conversation move onto another track. “It means flower.” 

“It was also the name of a woman in Romanian folklore who was tormented by erotic dreams.” Sherlock’s voice had gone lower, taking on that soft, hurried tone he usually adopted when deducing something. “At first her sexual frustration was believed to be caused by a Wizard influencing her dreams. But it was found that in fact a dragon had been stealing into her dreams disguised as a handsome man.”

“Sherlock,” John sighed, shaking his head. “That’s very interesting, but I don’t see why it’s important.” John considered telling Sherlock it was time to get back to sleep, that he was growing delirious again but Sherlock was expecting it so he hurried to keep talking before John could try to hush him.

“Tell me John, how _exactly_ was I injured?” Sherlock turned to face John with a blank expression. His hands slowly rose off the blankets so he could steeple his fingers and rest them against his lips like he did when he was thinking, watching John intently. 

John sighed, feeling uncomfortable. He didn’t like the way Sherlock was looking at him, the candlelight making everything more ominous as it caused shadows to dance across Sherlock’s sharp features.

“Florica heard about you investigating her and I don’t know…” John trailed off, rubbing a hand over his forehead. “She felt threatened I suppose with us staying so close. She came to confront you, you got into a fight. She had brought a garden rake with her and she attacked you with it. And I fought her off before getting you inside and taking care of your injuries.” 

“A garden rake… interesting weapon of choice.” Sherlock mused, still looking at John though the doctor got the impression he was looking _through_ him.

“I suppose it was the first thing that came to hand before she came over here.” John shrugged, already knowing that Sherlock was about to pick holes in his story. 

He wasn’t wrong.

“It is interesting that the first weapon to hand would be a garden rake when in fact her garden is so incredibly untidy.” Sherlock frowned, looking at John properly as the blonde sighed.

“Sherlock…”

“In fact I may be so bold to say she doesn’t have a garden at all. Rather she simply has some vegetation growing amongst the ruin of a castle she calls her home much like we do in our own pretty abode.” Sherlock raised his eyebrows at John, smiling almost sweetly at him. “In fact, given that we are in fact staying in the same castle as she _technically_ and we have a variety of interesting historical weapons just decorating the place, it is most singular that she armed herself with the one thing that would be most out of place in her residence. I would even speculate that she doesn’t own a garden rake at all, or any other gardening tool for that matter.”

“Sherlock –”

“Besides, I have had some time to look at my wounds whilst I have been confined to this bed and though I am no doctor like you Watson, I can see that the mostly flat prongs of a rake could not make such incisions as these.” Sherlock continued, ignoring John’s helpless attempts to stop him. “The weapon used to inflict these lacerations would have been rounder, though still hooked, much like a claw. In fact I say to you Watson that it _was_ a claw which wounded me. And I will not insult your intellect any further by deigning to tell you how it is so, and I hope you will not insult mine by trying to convince me that I am _crazy_.” Sherlock sneered the word like it left a bad taste in his mouth and John was forced to sigh and hang his head, admitting defeat.

“Alright.” He sighed, rubbing a hand over his eyes as his head ached fiercely. “I know what you think you saw, but Sherlock it’s just your mind rationalising –”

“I will continue then.” Sherlock interrupted, his eyes boring into John. “It is interesting to note that these claw marks you try to convince me are rake wounds cause such suffocating symptoms when in direct sunlight. As you know I have studied poisons and their effects and there is no poison I can think of which would have such a result.

“So assuming the ‘rake’ was not poisoned then another solution must present itself. Assuming my theory of the claws are correct it would make perfect sense that a dragon would have some sort of poison that is unknown to modern science that creates this effect. Whenever I go into sunlight I suffocate, that is most singular.”

“Dragons Holmes!” John cried, sitting up and running both hands through his hair. “By God do you hear yourself!? You’ll be locked into an asylum the minute we get back to London if you continue with this madness!”

“I don’t intend to tell anyone what I know John.” Sherlock said softly, a hand reaching out to gently pry John’s from his head. He held them both between his own palms, soothing the doctor who was stunned by this display of affection he rarely received from his friend. It would appear Sherlock was less cold and calculated when he was so badly injured. 

“Why do you tell me then?” John whispered hoarsely, gazing at Sherlock with somewhat hurt eyes. “What good comes of it?”

“Because I need you John.” Sherlock responded without hesitation. 

John’s breath hitched in his throat and he almost pulled his hands away from Sherlock’s to hear him say such words. Sherlock just gazed calmly at him, leaning closer to talk quietly. 

“I can’t go outside unless it is nightfall, and even then I am too weak to be much use. But we can’t leave this country without ridding it of Florica. You know we can’t.” Sherlock gazed into John’s nervous eyes, pleading silently with him to see what had to be done. To remain the John he had always known and face the danger without fear. 

“I have been watching Florica’s domain through the telescope whenever I have been able.” Sherlock nodded to the old fashioned brass instrument laying on the floor some distance from the window. “It weakens me but as long as the boards remain up I can view outside through the telescope for some time. And I have noticed that every morning Florica leaves her castle at around nine am. She does not return until four in the afternoon. This gives you plenty of time to go inside her half of the castle.”

“And why would I do that?” John sighed, though he was interested to hear if Sherlock had a plan.

“Because John, Florica is not just any Dragon – no don’t interrupt!” Sherlock snapped when John opened his mouth to insist he was crazy. The doctor scowled but slowly closed his mouth again, letting Sherlock continue. “You figured that out when you fought her last week. She is not like you are – No really John, I must insist that you let me finish!”

John had been about to interrupt Sherlock again, unable to listen to him talk like this but once more he obediently fell silent. He knew there was no point trying to convince Sherlock that he was wrong. It was clear the detective had managed to see the truth, just like always.

“Florica is a different breed to what you are.” Sherlock continued, just as calmly as if he was discussing the weather. “You of course are the expert, but I have managed to do limited research into this before the untimely attack. 

“Florica is, I believe, a descendant of those great Romanian dragons the Balaur. However, she must have mixed blood or… perhaps the blood of an elder, I don’t know how these things work.” Sherlock sighed, shrugging and hoping John would be able to understand more. “What is clear is that she is stronger than others and can’t be killed in the same way. I expect dragons are mostly extinct from this world, or all in hiding – you are a prime example.” He smiled at John who blushed fiercely in response.

“Florica though embraces her dragon side to the point where she is taking locals right off the very streets and eating them… many have tried to slay her, this we know.” Sherlock shrugged, deciding not to bore John with the case that they had been called to Romania for since he knew the details just as well as Sherlock did.

It had been some weeks before when an old acquaintance of Sherlock’s had written to him and begged him to come to the tiny village they found themselves in. He spoke of villagers going missing and never to be found again. The local authorities had done all they could, but soon people became terrified and spoke of old superstitions about dragons and vampires and other infernal mythical creatures. 

Sherlock had been irritated at first that no one seemed to be able to think rationally about such nonsense. But eventually he had agreed to look into the case and over their time examining it he had soon insisted that he and John move out of the little inn they were staying at and into the damp, dreary castle they now stayed in.

The castle had once been a large, imposing building that leered over the village. Now it was crumbling to ruin though all furnishings remained inside. The last owners had disappeared from the castle one night without a trace and now no one went there believing it to be haunted.

The castle stood in two halves, separated by a now dried out moat and a bridge which had been destroyed. The half nearest the village was Florica’s. Parts of it were crumbling ruin, and others were habitable. The villagers had always feared her, believing her to be crazy to live in such a place. And after some weeks looking into the case Sherlock had decided walking across the dried moat and moving into the other half of the palace would be a good idea in order to observe the strange woman.

He and John had only been in the abandoned building for one day when Florica had seen fit to attack Sherlock. Her motive had been clear. She knew that the detective was discovering the truth and she needed him dead.

“When Florica tried to kill me the only thing that stopped her was you.” Sherlock smiled warmly at John. “She clearly did not realise what you were, and that is why we have not had a repeat attack. She has been shocked into submission, but it will not be permanent. I expect she will try to remove us both soon, which is why we must kill her first.”

“Sherlock… How can we kill her if she is what you think she is?” John sighed, forgetting to try and convince Sherlock he was wrong and instead giving into the worry that had been gnawing at him all week. “If she is stronger, than what can we do?”

“It is obvious.” Sherlock smiled, glad that John was finally being cooperative. “In her half of the castle there must be something that tells of how to kill her. A book perhaps.” The way Sherlock spoke made it clear that he already had a book in mind. “She will be guarding it there so that no one will ever learn of how to destroy her. There will be a way though… a weakness unlike other dragons. You need only to go to her castle whilst she is gone and find the book.”

“Do you know how crazy this all sounds?” John sighed, though he knew that Sherlock was right. They couldn’t just leave without removing Florica from the world. If they left now she would continue killing until all the villagers were gone, and then perhaps move onto other places. Eventually she would reveal the existence of dragons to the world – something John couldn’t risk.

“I am aware it is probably our most exceptional case.” Sherlock nodded, before he sighed and took on a softer tone, his eyes pleading as he held onto John’s hands. “John… I cannot go into her home myself. You know that I would if I could, but I’m sure you would never allow it anyway.”

“Absolutely not.” John said strongly, without hesitation.

“Well then, you know my methods.” Sherlock continued, gently squeezing John’s hands. “If anyone can go into that place and find the book on time then it is you.” He smiled warmly at John, the doctor sighing as he gazed nervously back.

“I suppose…”

“We need only to know how to slay her, then once she is dead we can return to London. I assume that whatever poison or curse that she has inflicted in me will disappear with her death?”

“Yes… I suppose it would.” John admitted quietly, barely able to believe he was talking to Sherlock about this. It was the biggest secret of his life; he had considered telling Sherlock many times. The need to tell _someone_ practically ate him up inside. But to tell Sherlock that he was a dragon had always been absurd. The detective would never believe him, but now… Now he did.

“Then if you won’t look for the book for the sake of ending this case, do it for the sake of saving me.” Sherlock whispered, gazing intently into John’s eyes. “You were magnificent when you fought her off me… I have never seen a more stunning creature than you John Watson.” Sherlock moved his hands off John’s to gently cradle his face, his eyes full of emotion like John had never seen in him before. 

“I… I never felt like I could show you…” John whispered quietly, barely thinking straight himself anymore. “I wanted to…”

“I have seen now.” Sherlock smiled weakly, feeling an indescribable urge to just lean in and kiss John. “Though I admit my memory is cloudy… Perhaps instead of walking over the moat you could fly and then I could watch from the telescope –”

“No.” John snapped firmly, moving Sherlock’s hands from his face and gripping them tight. “No, you must stay in bed. You need to rest Sherlock. You nearly killed yourself this morning.” He frowned, turning into the stern doctor Sherlock was growing used to seeing. 

“If I do this, then I do it under my terms.” John insisted. “I’ll look for the book, but you promise me that whilst I’m gone you won’t move an inch from this bed. You’ll wait right here until I get back.”

Sherlock sighed and frowned, but he considered earnestly for a moment. He wanted to watch John turn into that beast again and commit the image to memory. He could only vaguely recall rippling black scales and deep, sparkling eyes that were so animalistic and yet still inherently _John_. He wanted to see more… but he could understand that ending this case was too important for him to disagree to Johns terms, or worse, to agree whilst knowingly lying to him.

“Alright.” He sighed, reluctantly nodding his head. “I will stay in bed until you return.” 

“Thank you.” John nodded, sighing with relief. He trusted Sherlock and knew he wouldn’t lie to him about this, not when trying to sneak a peek out of the window would only result in Sherlock hurting himself. “I’ll go then.”

“She should have left this morning like usual, though I didn’t get chance to check.” Sherlock told John, glancing at the old carriage clock on the dusty mantelpiece across from him. “You should have some hours before she returns, as long as you are here again by four you should be fine.”

“Right.” John nodded, getting up slowly and taking a deep breath to steal his courage. “Got it.” 

“And John,” Sherlock added as John began to walk towards the door. He waited until the doctor glanced over his shoulder to look at him, meeting his gaze. “Be safe.”

As John left the room he couldn’t help but wonder over how sentimental Sherlock was being. It must be the wound making him feel that way. Perhaps being so weak meant that his mind was turning to things it wouldn’t usually do, like the need for comfort, and companionship.

John respected Sherlock more than anyone he had ever met. But whilst he had been taking of him for his injuries he had come to feel more than that. He and Sherlock were already in a weird sort of relationship, nothing official, but certainly they were both aware of the unspoken feelings they shared. Now though John was beginning to feel so strongly for his friend that he wanted to be able to tell the whole world that he loved him.

John thought of London as he walked quickly through the dusty castle corridors and down a flight of stairs to what had once been an entrance hall leading out onto the bridge but was now just rubble, much like the bridge itself. He would have to talk to Sherlock when they got back to Baker Street, and ask him whether he was ready to become an official couple or not. 

The prospect of confirming their relationship had once terrified John, but he felt strangely calm about it now. Perhaps it was because Sherlock now knew all there was to know about him, and accepted him for it. There was no longer any doubt in John’s mind that the detective loved him.

It was this love that made John feel confident as he picked his way amongst the rubble and began to carefully slide down the bank into the dried up moat. He could fly across, like Sherlock had suggested, but he didn’t take pleasure in taking on his ‘other form’ and tried to avoid it at all costs. 

He hadn’t allowed himself to turn into a dragon since his early teens when he had learnt to control the change; but when he had seen Sherlock being attacked he had changed without difficulty. He had thought for some time he would find it hard to relax enough to become the beast he found so ugly, but now he knew that was ridiculous. It was encoded in his DNA, it was his very instinct to change back and forth at will. He would never lose the ability no matter how hard he tried.

As John climbed over rocks and dodged ditches he wondered over whether he would still want to lose that ability. Sherlock’s soft words about him being magnificent rang in his head and he couldn’t help but blush even as he slowly made his way across the moat. Perhaps being a dragon wasn’t so bad… If Sherlock liked it.

As John reached the other side and began to clamber up the bank to Florica’s half of the castle he pushed all his thoughts of Sherlock aside so that he could focus on getting in and out with the book as quickly as possible.

The castle seemed deserted as Sherlock had told him it would be, though John supposed one person living in such a big space wouldn’t exactly be conspicuous. Still he trusted Sherlock and so he made his way out of the moat and through the overgrown weeds towards the slate grey rocks of the castle.

John trusted that Florica wasn’t home, but he was careful all the same. He pressed his back to the castle wall and walked slowly and quietly to an opening that ran some metres up the rocks. He didn’t know how the chasm had been created, but it gave him an entry to the castle that wasn’t the front door.

John looked about to ensure he wasn’t seen, but of course no one was around; he slipped through the gap in the rocks, squeezing through as it grew narrower and narrower before he managed to force himself out and onto a narrow staircase that curved above him. 

John hated towers. He hated winding staircases. And he especially hated _old_ winding staircases with worn steps and no handrail. He often had to crawl up on his hands and knees, suffering from a little vertigo brought on by the cramped space and never ending turning. John didn’t desire to lose his dignity so quickly into his little raid and so he opted to go down the staircase, reaching the floor below after only a few steps.

John found himself in a large, clearly unused dining room. The chairs were all stacked upside down on the twelve foot long table. A variety of wildlife had their heads mounted on the wall and the large chandelier hanging from the ceiling was coated in cobwebs. John couldn’t imagine Florica entertained much.

As John walked across the room he tried to think of where the book could be hidden. He didn’t even know what the book was. He cursed himself too late for not asking Sherlock before; it had been obvious the detective had something in mind. And John had no doubt that if Sherlock was here now he would know where to look. He had said that John knew his methods, but John simply didn’t know enough.

The castle was huge, even just half of it. And the book could be anywhere. John tried to think where he would hide something that hid the secret to his demise, but he came up blank. It could be anywhere, in any of the rooms. There could even be a secret passage or room where it was hidden and he simply wouldn’t know. 

John couldn’t help but wonder if Sherlock had been wrong about him. How was he supposed to find the book? He would look of course, John Watson wasn’t a quitter, but he didn’t think he’d be returning to Sherlock with anything that could help him. Whilst he had five hours to kill though he would try.

John exited the dining room through a large, arched doorway and into a Victorian style kitchen. It was more modern than the medieval set up he and Sherlock had in there half, and there was a small table and a single chair that was set up in the corner with a place set. John realised that Florica must eat here. 

The first thing John noticed was the incredible heat in the room, despite its grand size and the cool temperatures outside. There was a fireplace larger than any John had ever seen dominating one of the walls and a fire was crackling in the grate. Immediately John tensed. He could see bones burning amongst the wood, blackened already but still retaining their shape. A skull was set at the far back and John instinctively jumped to hide behind the door he had just thrown open.

Florica was burning the bones of one of her victims. She could have eaten them if she had wanted too, but John could smell meat cooking in the Aga and he realised Florica may be a dragon but she was too high class (in her opinion) to eat like one. She stripped her victim’s corpses and cooked them like he would cook beef, and left their bones in the fire to turn to ash.

John felt ill as he stood hiding behind the door. Florica must still be home, she wouldn’t leave for eight hours with a fire burning and her meal cooking. Sherlock had got it wrong. 

Such an idea was difficult for John to comprehend. Sherlock was never wrong. But then he was injured… and he had been unable to spy on Florica that morning due to getting caught in the sunlight. He had unknowingly sent John into unimaginable danger. 

“Would you care to join me for dinner Dr Watson?” A soft, female voice suddenly inquired. “Or are you going to stand behind the door all afternoon?”

John jumped in surprise and then felt his heart begin to race erratically. Fear gripped at his chest like an icy hand and for a moment he couldn’t respond let alone move. It felt like an age before he managed to master his fear and slowly step out from behind the door and face the woman watching him from the small table. John didn’t know if she had been in the room when he had entered, not that it mattered now.

“I’m afraid I only set a place for myself, I wasn’t expecting company.” Florica turned hard, golden eyes on John, putting down the bottle of wine she had used to fill two glass goblets. “I suppose there’s no point in me asking you why you’re here.” 

“No.” John agreed, not knowing what he could really say. He didn’t know what he could _do_. Florica wouldn’t let him leave alive, but he hadn’t believed her to be the type of woman to offer her victims dinner first. She must be toying with him, and despite knowing he was in incredible danger John just felt offended. 

“I didn’t expect you to be home.” John didn’t see any point in lying. He hoped if he could just keep talking he could buy enough time to try and think of a way to escape. As much as he was certain Florica was going to try and kill him, he wouldn’t give up just like that. 

“Really?” Florica sounded genuinely surprised as she raised her eyebrows, idly drawing her long black hair round and over one shoulder. “Then why are you here?”

John had to admit he was fairly baffled by the question. He thought Florica had known instantly what he was doing snooping around her home and now he knew she didn’t he wondered if he should try to come up with something to explain it that wasn’t the truth. But he couldn’t think of anything and when Florica took a menacing step towards him he blurted out the reason.

“I was looking for a book.” 

“Oh?” Florica stopped in her tracks, looking even more surprised though she no longer seemed confused. John slowly realised he had been terribly wrong to tell her the truth and he began to walk back towards the already open door that led to the dining room. “A book hmm..?”

John didn’t respond, focusing on walking back into the dining room though Florica followed him. Her steps were slow but self-assured and John could tell she was thinking about something. 

John could tell he had put himself into even worse danger by revealing that he was looking for the book, but he only realised just how much when he saw Florica beginning to grow in front of his very eyes, as if someone had taken hold of her head and was stretching her upwards. 

“So… You don’t know how to destroy me?” Florica’s voice had changed, it was now deep and gravelly, practically demonic and John didn’t wait to see her scales appearing before he turned around.

Within an instant Florica had snarled and burst from her human form and into that of the beast. John didn’t think twice before doing the same, lunging for one of the large windows and surrendering himself to his own monster. 

John smashed through the window as his human flesh burst apart. His clothes tore into pieces and fluttered in ribbons to the dining room floor and broken window ledge. Some of the rocks were torn from the wall at the same time as John jumped through the window, shining black scales now rippling down his body.

John released his wings as he felt the cool, outside air on his snout and he soared up towards the clouds. He had no idea how to kill Florica and even in his dragon form he was no match for her.

More rocks burst from the wall as Florica chased John, now fully dragon herself. Her scales were a deep purple that shimmered blue and her claws were pearlescent whereas John’s were plain black. Florica was clearly a creature on a different level to John, and when John dared a glance behind himself he knew he didn’t stand a chance.

John flapped his wings and climbed higher and higher into the clouds. He needed to get some space between himself and Florica before he could turn and head back towards the half of the castle where Sherlock was probably lying oblivious in his bed. If John was going to fight he needed to do it closer to Sherlock, and hopefully he could somehow crawl into his room and be with him before he died. 

John had no doubt that Florica would manage to kill him.

Florica was horrifically fast, but using all of his strength John managed to beat his wingers just that tiny bit faster. He climbed and climbed before suddenly turning and making a nose dive back towards Earth. To his relief Florica was taken by surprise and he got a few more seconds head start before she too turned and followed him.

John’s mind was reeling as he plummeted towards the broken castle. He needed to think of a plan of attack. He would have no choice but to fight Florica, and though he didn’t know her weakness if he could strike at the likeliest weak points perhaps he could strike lucky.

As John reached the ruined entrance hall of his and Sherlock’s half of the castle he pulled his body up and skidded into the rubble on the ground. He spun around fast, his claws gripping to the rocks he stood on as he faced Florica racing towards him. Her jaws were open and a horrific screeching cry resonated from her throat, her sharp teeth glistening.

John tried not to let the noise unnerve him and he braced himself to fight. Florica was close now but before she had chance to land John sprung up again to attack first. His only hope was to get the first wound in and his jaws snapped at her throat as their bodies collided.

Dragons were not as big as Hollywood adaptions made them out to be. Florica was larger than John but even she was only around the size of two English Shire horses. She was by no means small, but she and John could at least fit into the entrance hall with its missing front and ceiling.

As they crashed into one another John managed to gain purchase on Florica’s throat. He bit as hard as he could and shook his head to tear at her flesh but it didn’t so much as stretch. Within an instant Florica had used her claws to dig into his sides and throw him off her, sending him flying into the back wall.

John could barely feel the pain in his sides, though he knew blood was pouring down his scales. As Florica raised up to her full height in front of him John noticed with dismay that her stomach was entirely scaled, leaving no soft point to strike at her heart. His own front was just tough, shining flesh. Dragon’s claws could tear through it in an instant.

John forced himself up to strike again but Florica was quicker than him. John fought though, he fought with all he had. He fought so desperately that for some minutes the battle was just a confused tangle of limbs, necks and tails. Any injury he managed to inflict on Florica would heal within seconds, and John was fast becoming aware that he was losing his strength and that he wouldn’t be able to continue much longer. 

“John!” The sound of Sherlock’s scream was more painful than anything John could experience. He squeezed his eyes shut for just a moment, flinging Florica off him with as much strength as he could muster so he could have just a second to look for his friend.

Sherlock was stood in the door way that led into the remainder of the castle. He was stood in the sunlight and had to use the stone doorway for support, but his voice was strong as he called to John.

“Her weakness is beneath the jaw John!” He shouted, the words filtering into John’s mind as he turned to face Florica again as she soared towards him for another attack. “Strike through the sub-mental and into the brain!”

John had barely registered the words before he was lunging to meet Florica in their final clash. Whilst the human side of him was still trying to make sense of Sherlock’s words the dragon side of him was speeding ahead and he had barely made the decision to do so before he was sending the end of his sharp, spiked tail up into the soft flesh underneath Florica’s jaw and up through her mouth straight into her brain.

Hot, scarlet blood gushed down John’s tail as Florica released a guttural scream, her body thrashing and serving to impale itself even more on John’s tail before she grew tense and still. Her muscles slowly relaxed as her golden eyes rolled back into her head and she slumped slowly onto the ground.

John removed his tail from her head with one sharp tug, stumbling backwards himself in stunned disbelief. He could feel his insides quivering as he gave up on the energy it took to retain his form. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, slumping down onto the rock strewn floor as his wings folded in on themselves and his scales melted away until he was left naked and human on the ground.

Sherlock, who had been slowly struggling to breathe as he stood in the sunlight, was suddenly able to inhale deeply and expand his lungs. He clung to the doorframe for a moment longer, breathing deeply and relishing the sensation of being able to stand in the daylight and breathe in the fresh air before he felt strong enough to hurry to John’s side. 

“John! Talk to me John!” He cried, turning the doctor over and examining his body. He was littered with cuts and abrasions, but they were all beginning to heal before Sherlock’s very eyes. At first he thought John might be unconscious, but then he groaned quietly and lifted a hand to rub against his eyes. 

“She… She was in the castle Sherlock… I didn’t know how to get out…”

“Shh, shh it’s alright.” Sherlock cooed, sighing and smiling. John was going to be okay. “I am sorry to have put you into such danger John, but it was entirely necessary.”

“It’s okay, you didn’t know…” John breathed, struggling to sit up with Sherlock’s help before it sunk in what he had just heard. “Wait… what do you mean it was _necessary_?” John opened his eyes and scowled at Sherlock, the truth starting to dawn on him. 

“Oh God… No, please tell me you didn’t know she would be there.”

“I’m afraid it was never true that she leaves the castle.” Sherlock mumbled apologetically, his hands holding gently onto Johns. “She had hid the book in this half of the castle. That’s why she was so afraid when we moved in; she knew I was onto her and that I now had all the time to look for the book. She attacked in the hope she could kill us before we discovered it, and when she saw you were a dragon too she panicked.”

“That still doesn’t explain why you sent me into her like some sort of… _bait_.” John spat, his eyes blazing as he glared at Sherlock. He was furious, and yet he wasn’t even surprised. It was so like Sherlock. 

“Well she wasn’t coming back.” Sherlock shrugged, as if that justified everything. “She was convinced that we had the book already and that she would be a fool to fight us… well, _you_.” He grinned sheepishly at John. “I knew the only way to get her to turn back into her true form and give us the chance to strike was for her to believe we didn’t have the book. The only way she would believe that was if she caught you looking for it herself. I had it all perfectly planned.”

“Planned? Planned!? I could have been killed Sherlock! She tried to kill me!” John cried, springing to his feet and pushing Sherlock’s hands away from him as the detective tried to console him and explain that he had known all along John would be able to hold her off in time for him to tell him how to kill her.

“I would have said before but it was essential you went into her abode believing that we really had no idea, or she never would have believed we were clueless herself.” He insisted, following John through the castle and talking to him all the way but John wasn’t even listening anymore. It was a wonder he hadn’t wrung Sherlock’s neck years ago.

oOo

One week later Sherlock and John were once more in Baker street, tea in hand and feet resting on the coffee table in front of them.

After John had cleaned himself up and found some spare clothes he had insisted on he and Sherlock going straight back to the village inn. Florica’s body had returned to its human form in her death and they had brought it with them to the village so that the villagers could decide whether to bury it and how. They spun a tale of her falling from the broken bridge when trying to cross the moat to confront them. John didn’t think it was their best story, but no one questioned them, just too relieved that the demon woman was dead.

With Florica gone Sherlock’s wounds healed much quicker and after a week both he and John were strong enough to get their flight home. Sherlock’s stitches couldn’t come out for a while yet, and John was still coated in cuts and bruises but they were both alive and about as healthy as they could be considering what they had been through.

John had got over his anger after a day or two. He still thought that Sherlock should have been honest about his plans from the start, but he knew better than any not to challenge his lover’s genius.

John smiled to himself, glancing over at Sherlock who was draped in his dressing gown and scanning over the newspapers that Mrs Hudson had been leaving in their flat, cup of tea in hand. They were now officially a couple… if only to each other. Sherlock had agreed they could start telling people as soon as they arrived back in London; John was just happy they had finally put a label to their relationship.

Sherlock Holmes. World’s only consulting detective. Genius. Sociopath. Insufferable… And John Watson’s boyfriend. A dragon’s lover.


End file.
